Justin Lacour
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1 poem -
8:24
Torn loose from the honor
farm,
I went six months without
feeling
You travel,
Ditches full of grease, switchblade combs.
woke up again on the
wrong lawn,
"Tipsy w/ kaleidoscope,"
Back in those Saturday afternoons
Kids sacrifice small
birds in a circle
Before going up to bat,
A gallery given over
to the plague years,
"now he just sits on the fainting couch,
Like a rural kingmaker?"
Our arenaceous landscape:
You float translucent,
More reflective medusa
Tentacles skimming the sand, the shadow
Where the slime in my eyes turns back to water.
Spikes left in your heart.
A broken chain
"When I was a criminal,
I was a gash where your hands could hide."
